


Agatha

by sirsquidfish_thefirst



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Sherlock actually likes owls, Sherlollyween 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsquidfish_thefirst/pseuds/sirsquidfish_thefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Where was that bugger, anyways?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  Cautiously, Molly peeked over the sofa, only to come face to face with it.</p>
<p>  With the owl.</p>
<p>  Molly gulped. She really hoped Sherlock would be there soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agatha

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Sherlollyween tumblr thing! It seemed like a wonderful idea. Very creative. Thank you, op! I don't own BBC Sherlock or any of its characters. Unbeta'd and unbrit-picked. Any and all mistakes are mine.

Molly scrambled for cover once again, letting out a surprised squeak as she stumbled and fell over the coffee table. Gathering herself, she dove behind the sofa again. She took in a few shaky breaths and covered her face with both hands. 

How did she even get into this mess in the first place? The predicament was unbelievably ridiculous. 

Molly scoffed quietly. If a certain _consulting detective_ hadn't decided to let himself into her flat, with his little _pet_ , nonetheless...

_Where was that bugger, anyways?_

Cautiously, Molly peeked over the sofa, only to come face to face with it.

With the owl.

Molly gulped. She really hoped Sherlock would be there soon.  
~*~  
"Molly, what's the point in dressing up for Halloween?" Sherlock sounded disgusted. 

Molly sighed, shifted her phone to the other ear, and held it between her shoulder and her head as she slipped on her boots. "I told you, Sherlock, it's just a fun thing to do every year. It's childish, yes, but it's fun," she replied cheerfully. "And I already told Meena I'd be at her party. 

On the other end, Sherlock scoffed. "There's different things you could be doing other than dressing up and going to parties," he complained. "Like helping me with an experiment, or shagging—"

"Sherlock."

"—and I'm even willing to watch those blasted movies you so enjoy," he finished, ignoring Molly's interruption. 

Molly rolled her eyes. "How very generous of you," she drawled.

"I know," Sherlock said smugly. Molly only laughed in return.

It was quiet on both ends for a few moments, besides Molly's shuffling as she put the finishing touches to her costume. Sherlock broke the silence by sighing.

"Do you _have_ to go to that costume party? I could really use your help with something, actually," he muttered. 

Molly hummed quietly. "Yes, love, I have to go. It's the first one I'll be going to in five years. Besides, I haven't seen Meena for nearly a year," she cooed. 

"Alright." He sounded defeated. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow. Do be careful. If you need anything, call me," he told her.

Ever the protective. Not that she minded.

"Okay. I'll, um, see you tomorrow. If we're lucky, late tonight. Don't get hopeful, though," she teased.

"Have a good time tonight, Molly."

"Have fun with your, er, _experiments_ , Sherlock."

Sherlock laughed on the other end. With that, Molly hung up, a broad smile on her face. 

Finally being with Sherlock had been...amazing. Although neither of them had said the "L" word, both knew it: that they loved each other very much.

A sudden rustle in the kitchen broke Molly out of her thoughts. She quickly checked the time before she stood and stretched. There was a little bit of time left before she had to leave.

Molly crept into the kitchen, glancing around. Perhaps it was just Toby messing about. She shrugged, and she was about to leave the kitchen when another rustle sounded, now accompanied by a...scream? Wait, more of a raspy purring noise.

She furrowed her brows. Maybe she was hearing things. No, she wasn't; there it was again. 

"Toby, come here, love," she called. Surely he was acting up. Every once in a while, she found him hiding in the cupboards, or he was trying to get into the cookie jar. 

The ginger cat in question came sauntering in only a bit later, twisting between her legs and purring. Molly stared down at her cat, then she shook her head and sighed, bending down to scoop him into her arms.

"You're a strange cat, Toby," she mused. He, meanwhile, was interested in pawing at a loose strand of hair. 

Molly looked down at her witch costume. A little fitting, having a pet cat. 

Toby hissed then, the fur along his back raising. His wild-eyed gaze was fixed on the curtains decorating her kitchen window. Not so much on the window or curtains themselves, but what was perched on the bar supporting the fabric.

An owl. A barn owl, at that.

It couldn't have been very old; its feathers weren't colored fully, and it wasn't very big.

Still... _a bloody owl was in her kitchen._

Molly froze, barely noticing Toby leaping out of her arms and scampering away, looking for a place to hide.

_Smart cat._

The young bird, upon seeing Molly and Toby, puffed up its feathers to look bigger. To Molly, it only looked terrified. And was that bandages dangling from its wing? No matter.

Slowly, Molly took a step towards it. "H-hello," she said softly, watching the winged creature carefully. It cocked its head at her, black, beady eyes studying her cautiously. It was still puffed up defensively, as if it would protect itself by appearing larger.

That worked a little: the owl, despite looking barely old enough to fly, intimidated her quite a lot.

_Pathetic._

Then the little owl did something she should've expected it to do.

It uttered a low screeching sound, and it dove from its perch clumsily. 

Towards Molly. 

In all honesty, Molly didn't know how to react when a baby barn owl dove at you, screeching like some ungodly creature from the pit. 

Naturally, her reaction was to _flee._

So that's what she did: she fled. 

A surprised shriek left her lips, and she sprinted into her living room, dove behind her sofa, and dug her phone frantically out of her pocket.

She dialed in Sherlock's number then pressed the earpiece to her ear. It droned for only a few moments; and Sherlock was almost immediately on the phone.

"Molly? What's wrong? Are you alright?" He sounded extremely worried. 

"What?" She shook her head before she spoke again. "No, I'm fine. Well, not exactly." A nervous giggle bubbled from her.

Sherlock growled on the other end. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Whomever was the bastard that touched you—"

"Sherlock, I'm not even _at_ the damn party. I'm still at my flat," she said exasperatedly.

His breathing evened after that statement. "Oh. I suppose that's good...then whatever did you call me for?"

Molly laughed breathlessly. "Well...it's actually kind of... _silly._ There's a—"

Before Molly could finish her sentence, a noise eerily similar to that of a wail sounded from the kitchen, seemingly getting closer. She winced a little.

"Molly, what the hell are you screaming about?" Sherlock asked frantically. 

"Sherlock, I already told you—"

"Jesus Christ, Molly, I'm coming over."

"Sherlock, for god's sake—"

"If you're injured, stay there and—"

" _Sherlock!_ For the last bloody time, I'm. Okay," Molly finally snapped, her voice raising. The pitiful screeching in the kitchen quieted for a moment, but then started again, now joined with the hisses and loud mewled from Toby. 

A beautiful harmony able to rival Sherlock's violin's shrieks when he sulked.

Inspirational. 

"The shrill noises in the background tell me otherwise," he drawled. He paused for a beat, then he asked slyly, "You're watching porn, aren't you? Dear god, Molly. You could've just _asked..._ "

"Sherlock," she seethed. The wails in the kitchen seemed to follow an odd pattern: every time one animal would stop for a breath, the other would start blubbering again, then both would be in some sort of wretched crying contest.

"Sherlock. Currently, I cannot go into my kitchen. Would you like to know why?"

Sherlock was silent at the other end.

"It's because that my cat and a bloody barn owl have gotten into some sort of damnable screeching competition. How the hell a barn owl got into my flat, a _baby barn owl,_ nonetheless, will continue to stupefy me; possibly until the end of me days. Would you, perhaps, have any doing with smuggling an owl into my flat?" Molly pressed her fingertips to her temples. Toby and that owl seemed to get along, considering the fact that they were impossibly loud.

"Agatha," Sherlock said immediately.

Molly blinked a couple of times. "Sorry?"

"Agatha. That's her name, the owl's." He sounded much more sheepish now. 

A sudden flash of annoyance and anger smothered her. " _You_ were the one who brought an owl to my flat?" She asked calmly.

"Er...perhaps?"

"Sherlock, is that a question or a statement?"

"A statement?" Sherlock now sounded quite tentative. Good, let him think that she's mad. She was, sort of, but not really.

"Get your arse over here and get...Agatha," she growled.

Not another word came from Sherlock's mouth before he hung up.

"Idiot," she grumbled.

Molly then returned her attention to the kitchen. What she heard scared her slightly.

Silence. 

Either Toby had gotten bored and ate the owl (she shivered; hopefully that wasn't it), or the owl— _Agatha,_ Molly corrected herself—had started exploring her flat.

It seemed that the latter was correct, thankfully; the baby bird hopped into the living room, cocked her head at her, and fluttered to the lamp, perching on the lampshade lazily. Agatha eyed her warily still.

For a good reason, too. Molly had gotten up and started creeping towards Agatha.

It was an idiotic move on Molly's part. Letting out another heart-wrenching cry, the owl swooped from her perch, beady eyes fixed on Molly. 

_Damn it._

Molly scrambled for cover once again.  
~*~  
When Sherlock finally arrived, Molly was watching Agatha still, timing the owl's movements and dodging its frantic attacks.

Molly spotted Sherlock and scowled at him from behind the chair she was hiding behind. "Get the bloody thing out of my flat," she snapped, irritated.

As if on command, the bird flittered to Sherlock's shoulder, balancing casually as she preened her feathers. 

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at Agatha. "She's never done that before," he stated, finally breaking the mile-long silence that had stretched between them. He rubbed at the back of his neck, giving Molly a sheepish look. 

Another pregnant pause before Molly spoke. "Tell me again: how did _she_ —" Molly nodded towards Agatha, who was currently fidgeting from one of Sherlock's shoulders to the next, stopping once in a while to nip and play at one of the many curls sat atop his head, "—get into my flat again?"

Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other. "I had to...come here to get some bandages," Sherlock sighed.

"You have your own at your own flat."

"Yes, but since you're a doctor—"

"Pathologist," Molly corrected.

"Still a doctor, technically. You still need to know about medical conditions, correct?" Sherlock said smugly. Molly lifted and lowered a shoulder in begrudging agreement.

"Anyways, you had the proper bandages I needed," Sherlock finished, pursing his lips. 

Molly quirked an eyebrow. "Still doesn't explain the owl, Sherlock."

Another silence, only broken by the occasional flutter of wings or soft coos from Agatha. 

Sherlock mumbled, "It was for a case, Molly." He glanced up at her from under his eyelashes.

"To have a pet owl?"

Sherlock crossed his arms, a pout starting to tug at his lips childishly. "Yes," he said simply.

"Liar," Molly sang, smiling a little.

"Fine," Sherlock snapped. "Agatha had fallen from a tree and broke her wing. I need the bandages to fix her wing." It all rushed out, and Molly had to blink a couple of times to take it in.

All Molly could reply with was, "You wanted to save a baby owl?"

"Well, I couldn't just leave her _lying_ there, Molly." Sherlock glanced over at Agatha, who was wrestling with Sherlock's coat collar. 

Molly's smile widened. "That would explain the bandages. But still...how did Agatha manage to get into my flat?"

"Ah. That." Sherlock furrowed his brows. "When I came to get some more bandages for her, I took her with me so I could just change them out and go back home. I, uh...I forgot her. Kind of," he murmured. 

"This was today, correct?" Molly inquired.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, Molly, I left Agatha here for a full twenty-four hours. Of course it was today," he quipped; that quickly earned a glare from Molly.

"While I was at work, you came into my flat, wrapped an owl's wing, then _forgot the owl,_ which was the entire reason _why_ you came here in the first place," Molly sighed. A giggle left her lips. "You're ridiculous."

Sherlock scowled, but Molly saw the mirth in his eyes. "I am not," he grouched. "And I didn't come over _entirely_ because of Agatha. You do realize that you're more important to me that this owl."

Molly blushed and glanced down at herself ( _still in the ridiculous witch outfit,_ a part of her sighed). "You flatter me."

"I know." Sherlock smirked.

Molly leant her head against Sherlock's chest. 

Comfortable quiet filled the air.

Then Molly glanced over at Agatha. The little owl was once again resting on her lampshade, and she flew to the kitchen again. Molly gave Sherlock a strange look before following the bird.

She was sat at the windowsill, screeching her quite awful cry. Molly approached Agatha carefully, Sherlock following close behind.

"I think she wants out," Molly stated softly.

She glanced over at Sherlock, who pursed his lips, brow furrowing. 

"Her wing's healed. That's obvious by the way she's been flying to and fro in your flat. It'd be okay if we let her out." He shrugged.

Molly watched Agatha scratch at the window, soft coos escaping her once in a while.

Before Molly could lose her nerve, she leant over Agatha, unlatched the window, and threw it open. With one last haunting screech, the owl shot out of the window into the dark night.

Molly quickly shut the window again then turned to Sherlock.

"You could still go to that party," Sherlock offered with a small smile.

"It's too late to go now."

"Ah." Sherlock rocked on his heels a little, then he inclined his head at Molly. "I guess I should leave," he mumbled, his smile turning into a rather devilish smirk.

"Stay."

"What?"

"You heard me, Mister Holmes," she teased, stepping closer. She leant up and kissed his nose. "We could do something worth our while."

Sherlock took in a deep breath. "Like what?" He rumbled, his hands lightly dragging down her sides to rest at her hips.

"Hm..." Molly brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, "Let's go watch some terrible scary movies."

With a bright grin, she kissed Sherlock's lips chastely and skipped to her bedroom. Behind her, she heard Sherlock groan.

" _Molly._ "

"Hold on, I need to change out of this ridiculous costume. It's driving me mad."

A pause, then Molly said silkily, "Why don't you get in here and help me?"

It was a while before they actually got to watch any movies.


End file.
